


First Impressions

by Hestia01



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 03, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hestia01/pseuds/Hestia01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is in an accident and loses his memory.  Luckily, he can count on his friends to see him through it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

John Watson lay unconscious in a hospital bed, Sherlock hovering over him anxiously. John stirred, blinking his eyes as he regained consciousness. He stared out, uncomprehendingly, into the stark white room, when his field of vision was filled with the angular, dark-haired man as he swooped down on him.

“Good, you're alive! Get up, we can't just hang around here all day!” He grabbed him by the arm and tried to drag him to his feet. John pulled back, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Hey, get off! What happened? Where am I? Who the hell are you?”

Sherlock wasn't listening, until his friend asked who he was. Then he froze, turning around slowly to fix his unsettling gaze on him.

“Who...am I?” He repeated curiously, not wanting to believe he heard him correctly.

“Yeah, what's the matter with you, anyway? I don't even know where I am or how I got here, or...” John looked around before dropping his face in his hands, feeling very ill, “anything.”

Sherlock bent over him again, tilting his face up toward him, peering at him with a quirked eyebrow and twitchy set to his mouth. “No...” Then, looking suddenly angry, he seized his friend by the shoulders and brought his face an inch from his own, snarling fiercely. “Don't say that. Don't you dare. Don't you dare...sit there, staring up at me with that blank expression. You know me, you know you do. Don't—you—leave—me!” He shook him roughly, his face contorted in an unaccustomed surge of emotion. “Don't do this to me, John. Don't leave me,” he sighed defeatedly, releasing his grip and slumping back against the wall, sinking down into his seat again.

John stared mutely, shrinking back against his pillow, obviously afraid of this man. “So...who are you?”

With a grim, hysterical giggle, Sherlock tilted his head back, laughing at the ceiling. “Who am I?”

“Yeah, and, um, where am I? Anything you could tell me would be helpful at this point.”

“All right, you're in the hospital, you were hit by a car and took a blow to the head when you hit the ground. Looks like it was a bad one if you're in this shape. Do you know your own name?”

Here, John looked annoyed, scowling as he held a hand against his forehead. “Yes, it's...” and he trailed off. As frustrated as he was at the moment, he couldn't ignore the look on this man's face. He was just as upset as he was. John shook his head, screwing up his face, furious with himself.

“Your name is John Hamish Watson. You hate your middle name, but I think it's funny. You're a retired army doctor, you were sent back home after getting shot in the shoulder five years ago. My name's Sherlock Holmes, I'm a consulting detective. We've worked together, we were partners...friends. John, please...don't do this, don't be this. This is a joke, isn't it? Please tell me you're pulling my leg, and we'll be even for the bomb in the underground.”

“Bomb in the underground?!” John gasped, sitting up sharply, staring at him in amazement.

Sherlock raised a hand to him, deflecting his concern. “It all came out all right. You laughed about it after. Don't you even remember when I faked my own death? You had to go back to therapy for that! Stop this, stop it right now! Don't leave me!” he cried, looking ready to lunge at him again, advancing toward him with hands outstretched.

John panicked, grabbing for the button to call for the nurse, hitting it frantically until someone came running in. John hoped that she would drag this lunatic off of him and throw him off the premises. He was surprised, then, when she put her hands on her hips and gave Sherlock a stern look.

“Mr. Holmes, if you can't refrain from upsetting my patients, I'll have to ask you to wait out in the hall.”

“Nurse, get him out of here! This man is attacking me!” John demanded.

The nurse seemed quite unconcerned, and simply held up a warning finger at Sherlock as though he were a naughty child. “Your friend's just been through a terrible ordeal; the last thing he needs is more excitement.” She turned to her patient and poured him a glass of water. “How are you feeling, Mr. Watson?”

Looking from the nurse to Sherlock and back again, John dragged his fingers through his hair. “Confused, among other things. Thanks for asking,” he barked impatiently.

“He doesn't recognize me, doesn't remember the accident, not even his own name until I told him,” Sherlock reported, looking grim and keeping his distance.

“Who the hell is this guy, anyway?” John demanded, pointing accusingly at his friend. “He was attacking me, begging me not to leave him! I mean are...are you...” he stumbled over his next words, dreading the answer. “You said we were partners. Are you my boyfriend?”

Sherlock's head snapped up at this suggestion, biting back a laugh. “Why? Do you fancy me?” He flashed him a winning smile.

“Oh, god, no,” John groaned. Sherlock chuckled darkly at him.

“Just a joke. No, we're not...like that. Just friends.”

John looked at him, not sure if he should believe him. “All right.”

Satisfied that everyone was going to behave, the nurse left. Sherlock took his laptop out of his bag and started typing at it. A few minutes drew out before John got curious.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Hijacking your blog, letting your adoring fans know not to expect to hear from you until you've recovered.”

“Blog? Fans?”

“You post stories of our adventures, people seem to like them, or at least your version of events,” Sherlock explained, looking disdainful as ever about his friend's pastime.

“Adventures?”

“You know, it's getting a tad annoying to hear you repeat everything I say. 'Repeat everything you say?' Ha ha! Beat you to it!” He pointed at him, looking triumphant.

John snickered, dropping his guard a little. “All right, let's see.” He straightened up in bed and Sherlock approached, setting the computer in his friend's lap.

“Dear readers of this ridiculous blog,

This is Sherlock Holmes. I am borrowing this page to let you all know that John Watson has been in an accident and won't be bothering us with his imaginative narratives for some time. He is suffering a hopefully temporary case of total memory loss and is quite boring as a result.”

 

This made the disoriented patient laugh out loud. “Seriously, when did you write this?”

“Just now, I posted it just before you read it. Why?”

“The view count is already up to 200. 300...500? Look, some have written back! _Dear John, hope this hiatus isn't as long as the last one. Get well soon. Trust Sherlock, he'll take good care of you. Try reading some of your blog, it might trigger something._ They're all like this! Look at this one, _Don't let Sherlock use you for any experiments until you're better. Glad he's there with you. He might be a high-functioning sociopath but he's your best friend and he loves you. Has the rest of your gang been alerted? Good luck meeting everyone again._ They all say stuff like that. Who are all these people?”

“Your readers. You've managed to cultivate quite the fan base.”

John scrolled down to read more and came across the infamous picture of Sherlock in the stupid hat. Trying to be diplomatic, he looked from the screen to the man next to him with raised eyebrows. “Do you really wear that?”

“No!” Sherlock snarled, slamming the laptop shut and yanking it away. “I told you to take that photo down!”

This small disturbance was enough to summon another nurse to the room. “Now, really. Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to leave. Your time is up, you can come back in a few hours after he's had a chance to rest.”

“Rest? What do you mean, rest? He's resting right now! Lying back all placidly, brain barely functioning, not much change there...”

“Sherlock!” And he was pointed out of the room. He slunk away obediently.

“I'll round up the others, all right?” he asked, popping his head back into the room. John nodded and waved him away. He lay back and looked out of the window, letting his mind wander, wondering when and if he'd start remembering things. The whole concept seemed equal parts ridiculous and hopeless. He wondered who he was, exactly. How old he was, what he looked like, who the “gang” were that Sherlock and his online well-wisher had mentioned. When he thought back on it, he realized that nobody mentioned any family. And what of this blog, his “adventures”? He thought of this mysterious Sherlock fellow, apparently his best friend. This strange man who violently begged him not to leave him. It made him uneasy. _What sort of a person was I, that would choose to be friends with this brash, insulting, potentially unstable man? A man who supposedly loves me and was instructed to take care of me? 'Trust Sherlock,' they all said. My adoring fans..._

 

“Well, well, here he is!” a comfortably rough voice called out. A tallish man with greying hair strode up to his bed. 

John looked up at him blankly, “And you are?”

“Cor, he wasn't kidding,” the stranger remarked, waving a hand in front of John's eyes. “Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, at your service.”

“Oh, no, that won't be necessary. I don't want to press charges. I mean, he's a weirdo, but you can't arrest people for that...can you?”

“Nah, I'm not here officially, just dropping in to visit a friend.” Lestrade read the question in John's eyes and clarified, “that's you.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. I'm sorry, I really don't...” he faltered, not sure what he was trying to say. Greg patted him on the shoulder with easy familiarity.

“Don't worry about it, Sherlock told me everything. He must've scared the pants off of you,” he added with a laugh.

“What makes you say that? I'm not saying you're wrong.”

Greg grinned, putting his hands in his pockets with a shrug, “That's just him, innit? I'm sure he didn't mean to, but that's just him being himself. Takes some people time to get acclimated to him. Most never do.”

“But you did...and so did I?” John asked curiously.

“Don't let whatever he said or did put you off him, John. You two might as well be brothers. You're seen together so much, people assumed you were his boyfriend. That notion kind of petered out after you got married, but some still assume Mrs. Watson's your 'cover girl'.” He winked.

John gulped, a rush of cold sweat blossoming across his forehead. “Married? I'm...married? Oh, Christ...is she here?”

“She was following in the car behind, last I saw. She should be along soon, unless she got swallowed up by traffic.”

“Married...oh, that's all I need,” John gasped as the world spun around him. “How am I going to handle this? What am I supposed to do? She's going to be so pissed off. Probably as bad as Sherlock. He's just my friend, she's my wife! What do I do?” He looked up at Lestrade appealingly. “How in the hell am I going to maneuver being married to a total stranger? What if...what if we don't get on? So much can go wrong. I mean, this is worse than forgetting a birthday or anniversary, this is forgetting a whole person!”

 

In the hall, a woman in hospital scrubs peered in sympathetically, listening to the poor man's worries. She had to stop herself from approaching him, trying to comfort him. She waited in the hall until Greg left, then she walked in.

As she entered the room, John fixed his gaze on her. Suddenly, being hospital-bound didn't seem so bad. He looked at the clock. It was only one-thirty in the afternoon and he'd already been visited by three different nurses, and this one was the prettiest of the bunch! _Yep, definitely straight!_ She was a petite blonde with wide, sparkling eyes. He quickly screwed up the nerve to talk to her before she dashed off like the others.

“Hi, I'm...” he blanked out, checking his wrist. “John. My name's John.” He held up his wrist band with a grin.

“Oh, hi” she answered, checking the chart at the end of the bed. “Oooh, memory loss? Tough break, dear. But don't you worry, these things are rarely permanent.” She smiled warmly, coming closer, smoothing his covers. She bent over him, leaning against the bed rails. He could smell her perfume. “Can you tell me something? What's it like?”

Somehow, being asked this was a relief. John sighed. “Frustrating. All these people want me to remember them, and they're either condescending or furious when I don't...and then they tell me I'm married to someone that I couldn't even pick out of a crowd.”

“Sounds terrifying,” she admitted, frowning at the thought. “I can't even imagine what that must be like. You poor dear.”

“It is scary, not knowing anything. About myself, about anyone who's come to see me. I mean, I suppose I ought to appreciate the fact they came to visit but they didn't even _tell_ me anything!”

She put her hand around his wrist, turning his band around and looking down at it, then back up at him. “Well, your name's John Watson, you're forty-three, you're five foot six,” John groaned disappointedly, making her smile grow. “You have ash blond hair that's _just_ starting to turn, which in my opinion is quite flattering.” She told him as she ran her fingers softly through it. “You're a GP here in London but you've migrated to the suburbs. You lived with the one and only Sherlock Holmes for a few years, you'd help him with his cases and chronicle them for the whole internet to see, getting you both a share of the spotlight. It annoys him,” she added with an elfin smile. “He probably would rather think that his own absurd website was what brought clients in.”

“No one bothered to try correcting him?”

“Well, you know how they say it's dangerous to wake a sleepwalker.” They shared a laugh over this.

“Look, I...don't mean to be rude or unwelcome, but you're...very beautiful,” John sighed helplessly. They both tittered nervously while he tried to regain his cool. “And you're good company.”

“Good, I try to be.” She straightened up from her leaning over position, looking ready to go. “I'll have to add 'shameless charmer' to your chart.”

“Wait, before you leave...you know Sherlock?”

“Everyone in London knows Sherlock in some form or other,” she answered with a sweep of her hand.

“Right. Do...you...think I should trust him?”

“Yeah,” she answered without a moment's thought. “Definitely. I mean, he's a...bit strange, a lot of people think he's a psychopath, but he's your psychopath. It's what you like.” And with that, she flounced out. John watched as she practically floated away.

“God, she's an angel,” he muttered to himself. It was only long after that he realized he hadn't gotten her name. Furious with himself for his stupidity, he made a mental note to get it next time. Then he remembered, he was married, he really shouldn't be flirting with the hospital staff. Still, she didn't seem to mind. 

A few hours later, Sherlock came back with a few other people in tow. His earlier supposition was confirmed as no family members presented themselves. Still, it seemed his readers were correct that he had formed his own adopted family of colleagues. A mortician, a former landlady, a stork-like man in a suit who leaned on an umbrella, the Detective Inspector from earlier...It was an odd sort of meeting, being introduced to people he'd apparently known for years. None of them seemed sure of what to say. Jokes were attempted, but several seemed to be of the 'you had to be there' variety, or, rather the 'you have to remember being there' variety. John tried to be receptive, but it was all so overwhelming. He just wanted to be left alone, or take these people one by one. It all made his head ache.

The tall, thin man with the umbrella was first to leave, Sherlock's brother with an equally weird name. He wondered what their parents had been thinking. The detective inspector left shortly after. Both ladies stayed longer to coo over him a bit more, although it seemed as though the younger of the two was rather smitten with his friend. He caught her numerous times casting longing looks in Sherlock's direction, who appeared perfectly oblivious. Or maybe he was pointedly ignoring it.

After the others all left, Sherlock pulled up a chair. “Well, now that that unpleasantness is over.” They exchanged smirks. He could clearly see how the meet-up had annoyed the patient. “You okay?”

“Yeah, or I will be. Just...a bit nervous, you know? A bit ago when that Lestrade fellow--”

“Oh, Gary.”

“I thought his name is Greg.”

“It is, I don't like it. Too boring. Anyway, you were saying?”

John shook his head. “He told me I'm married.”

“Oh, yes, didn't I mention that? You've got a kid, too.”

“Holy shit, Sherlock, I'm a dad, too?! Look, I don't know how to do any of this, and now you're telling me I'm responsible for another human life?!”

“You had plenty of practice with me,” Sherlock rejoined unconcernedly. Taking in his friend's worried face made him feel a bit more considerate. “I'll help, all right? I can take a few weeks off from detective work. Unless something Earth-shattering turns up, of course.”

“You mean it?”

“Wouldn't want things to get dull, you know. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time. I practically moved in with you when the baby was born, all the times I came over to take a turn. Bet the little miss will be happy to see her Uncle Sherlock again,” he added with a smile.

Funny, this strange, stark man practically glowed with pride as he spoke of his honorary niece.

“Aren't they coming?” John asked, suddenly aware of how strange it was that his wife and daughter had been absent from their little get-together.

“She told me you were sleeping when she popped in. Didn't want to bother you.”

“Yeah, I must've dozed off a bit. They keep giving me stuff to keep me calm.” This brought an envious groan from Sherlock as he gazed longingly at the drip feed. “What, you want some?”

“I'd love some.” Then, he pushed the notion aside, not wanting to look like the addict when John was just getting used to him. He'd always been partial to morphine. “You probably need it more, though. Enjoy.”

John gave a weak chuckle as he pondered his companion. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the words, “Yeah, he's always like that,” flitted through his head. He couldn't remember the context, but he felt it certainly applied.

“I'm glad, actually, that I missed them. Can't bear to think about facing my actual family right now. This is all so much. Is that a horrible thing to say?”

“I don't know, is it? I tend not to go with conventional social norms. I've usually had to rely on you to be my compass.”

“You know her, though.”

“Of course.”

“Do you like her?”

Sherlock looked startlingly grave when he answered, “I swore on your wedding day that I'd do anything I could to protect her. I already made good on it once. I'm prepared to again. I think you'll like her. Might be a bit strange at first, but you're such an enormous flirt, you shouldn't have any trouble.”

That sounded a lot like what that cute nurse had said to him earlier, it made John start to question his character. “Who says I'm a flirt?”

“I do! The whole city does! We lived together for years and you had a different girlfriend every other week. Went through them like toilet paper. You can charm the birds down from the trees but you sure as hell couldn't catch one for long.” He waves that worry aside. “This one's different. You'll do fine, she's crazy about you. I'd better go before I get chased out again. Oh, here, Mrs. Watson sent a card for you. See you later.” He handed him a card and strode out, turning up his coat collar.

The door drifted shut, and John tore open the envelope and opened the Get Well card.

_“Dear John,_

_I can't begin to tell you what went through my head when I heard about your accident. I'm so glad you're still in one piece. You must have a million questions, but hopefully you've gotten some answers already. Of course, if Sherlock has been there, you probably have more questions than you started with. I hope they're taking good care of you there. I can't wait to get you home. Then we can get to know each other again. Just take your time, you won't heal up overnight. Be nice to the hospital staff, I know that doctors make the worst patients!_

_XOXO_

_Mary”_

 

He read it through again, smiling at her accurate assessment of Sherlock. So they really did know each other. He turned off his lamp and closed his eyes, thinking of the cute blonde nurse who'd spoken to him. Somehow, he'd felt better after her visit than he had after his flock of friends and colleagues. Guilt gripped his stomach. To alleviate it, he tried thinking about his wife, what little he knew about her. He tried to remember saying her name, but couldn't. It had been a long day of trying to force memories to surface. She'd signed her note with hugs and kisses, but it relieved him that she hadn't actually written the word “love.” Seeing that word from a stranger would have been unsettling. Gently, he drifted off to sleep once more, hoping that when he woke up, something, anything, would have fallen into place.

 

When he next opened his eyes, it was dark in his room. He must have slept for the rest of the day. Whatever they were giving him must have been potent, or maybe the strain he was under was just that exhausting, because he didn't feel the heaviness of shaking off a drugged sleep. Next, he realized that someone was holding his hand. _Mary?_ He thought, tinged with apprehension. He turned...and there sat Sherlock.

“Hello,” he said, expecting his visitor to jump.

“I knew you were awake,” Sherlock murmured, stroking his wrist now, too. “Your pulse gave you away. Oh, look, it's getting faster. Did I frighten you?”

“A bit...startled me, more like. What...? Do I want to know what you're doing?”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Sherlock was first to look down, down at the hand he was caressing. He smiled apologetically. “Holding your hand?”

“I...don't understand. You said you and I were just friends.”

“And so we are. Please just let me. I know ordinarily you wouldn't. I thought, perhaps, the way you are now, you might be more...forgiving? The old you probably would have kicked me in the face by now and told me off. And I know you still have no clue who I am, but I couldn't help it. You were lying there looking all peaceful and everything.”

“Did you do this when we lived together?”

Sherlock chuckled softly, “No. Missed some opportunities there, didn't I? Never thought to.”

“And I thought you liked Mary.”

“I do! Shouldn't I?”

“How can you like my wife and have a crush on me?”

Sherlock pressed John's hand between his as he raised all three under his chin. “It's not a crush,” he denied softly. “I'm sorry, John, I didn't mean to wake you. I never meant...”

John's expression softened, the anger melted all away at the sight of this poor man. It was obviously something he'd struggled with. “No, it's fine. You're not hurting me, you're not hurting anything. Except maybe yourself.”

“I do like Mary. I'm glad you two have each other. You're a good match. I wouldn't give you away to just anyone, you know. You gave me the best big sister I could have hoped for.”

“So, she's older than you.”

“You're older than me, too. Not by much, don't worry. She's perfect for you, and she's a real part of the team, too. Just incredible.”

“Did I know before the accident? About you? About...this?” John nodded to their clasped hands.

“No. I didn't have the nerve, and it was irrelevant. You're straight, you're married, you wouldn't fancy me at all. So, we were friends. Good friends. When we were on the case together, in action, we were like one person. The number of times I'd wanted...” he choked on the word, “wanted to do this after. Just to sit with you like this. I never dared. I knew you'd react badly, enough people make a joke out of it and it annoys you so much. I'll be all right. Just let me...let me love you now. I do, John, really. Look...I won't make a big thing out of it. By morning it will be water under the bridge.”

John thought back to that morning, Sherlock pouncing at him, furious, terrified...begging him not to leave him. As though he was all he had. “I'm sorry,” was all he could say, squeezing back gently.

“You're getting discharged tomorrow. I'll be back then to take you home.” He stood up, releasing him. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” John murmured, “see you then.”

 

The next morning, John woke up to see the blonde nurse from yesterday puttering about his room. She'd brought him a cup of coffee and some toast and was opening up the curtains.

“Hello again,” he said, sitting up and gazing across the room at her.

“I see you're getting sprung today. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, ready to be up and about again. Just wish I could remember something.”

The woman approached his bed, adjusting it to help him sit up more comfortably. “You know...I can't say I've been in exactly your position, but I kind of know what it's like not to have a real past. Starting a new life somewhere, all that. It can be scary, but it is what you make of it, I guess.”

This was a new perspective. Putting it in this light made it seem less hopeless. She seemed able to empathize with his situation even if she never went through it herself. Enough to find some similar context. “Yeah. Good point. So, I could be anybody. But...who was I?” He wondered aloud, not really demanding an answer of her.

She smiled and he felt his heart flip. He took a sip of coffee to settle himself. “Well,” she answered, “they say you can accurately judge a person by the company he keeps.”

“All right.” he lets that absorb, wondering where she was going with this.

“Your best friend is Sherlock Holmes. What does that say about you?” she grinned.

John laughed, nearly snorting coffee out of his nose. “Oh, god. Yeah, that says a few things all right. Does that make me a nutter?”

“Depends on who you ask.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Gotta go. Take care now, and try not to worry too much. See you.”

“Bye,” he called softly as she left him. Then, he realized again. “Dammit! Still didn't get her name!” He fumbled for his call button and paged a nurse. His first one from yesterday answered it.

“You rang?”

“Yeah, I had a question about one of the people here. I've seen her a couple of times and never got her name. A woman, upper thirties, I think. Bit shorter than you. Has light purple scrubs on today. Short, blonde hair, big eyes? You know who I'm talking about?”

“I'm sorry, there isn't anybody like that who works here.”

“What? But I've seen her twice!”

“You'd better get up and get dressed, you're scheduled to leave today. We just called your friend to come pick you up.”

“But wait a minute, hang on. Who do you think that was?” John wanted to know.

The nurse shrugged, “Well, they told me on my first day this place was haunted. Of course, try to find a hospital that _isn't_ haunted, right?”

“So, you're saying that was a ghost. Some staff member, a doctor or nurse or orderly died here and never clocked out.”

“Could be. Or maybe you've got a guardian angel.” She smiled at him and left.

He dressed and sat on the bed to wait for Sherlock, all the while wondering what had transpired here. _That would explain it,_ he thought to himself. _Someone like that couldn't possibly be human. She was too perfect, too beautiful, so comforting. I wouldn't be surprised if her feet didn't touch the floor. She practically floated. Serves me right, actually. I'm married, I can't go around chatting up girls at the hospital._

Soon, Sherlock came bursting into the room, the very picture of a man with a mission. “Good, you're up. Let's get the hell out of here.” He threw John his coat and strode out, his own coat billowing out like a cape. John trotted to catch up to him, panting from the sudden effort. Sherlock didn't make a backward glance at him until they were in the back of a cab. Gone was the brooding, tender man from last night. His shields were firmly back in place.

“Say, Sherlock, can I tell you something weird?”

“By all means.”

“Do you believe in ghosts, angels, that sort of thing?”

“No. Rubbish, all of it. Why, did you get haunted last night? Did they teach you the true meaning of Christmas?”

John chuckled, “No. Think I may have had a visitor, though. Twice I saw a woman, a nurse I think. Prettiest thing. She never gave me her name, though, and when I asked someone else about her, they said no one there matched the description. She was just so sweet to me, easy to talk to. I felt like we were really able to relate to each other. It felt like love at first sight. Now it turns out she's probably a spirit or something, and I'll never see her again.”

Sherlock grinned wickedly. “Just don't let Mary hear you talk like that. Moping around for some figment of your imagination, or more likely someone at the hospital who was playing a joke on you.”

They spent the rest of the trip in silent thought, and when they pulled up the curb, Sherlock led John up the stairs and into his home. With each step, it became evident that John was getting more and more nervous. He clutched at Sherlock's arm.

“What if I make a damn fool of myself?”

“Don't worry. I'm here, I'll take photos.”

“Thanks. Wait, what?”

His friend's evil laugh was his only answer.

“Mary, I brought John home!” He called in.

Footsteps approached, a door opened, and John came face to face with his wife.

“Oh, my god,” he gasped, clapping a hand to his mouth. “It's you! Sherlock, it's her! That cute nurse I was telling you about! Oh, you...”

Mary beamed at him, groaning delightedly as he threw his arms around her. Just then, the rug slipped under John's feet and they both crashed to the floor. Neither of them cared, they lay there in a giggling heap. They both heard the click of Sherlock's phone taking a picture. “You're real,” John breathed, “I am so happy you're real, and you're her!”

“You liked my idea, then?” she asked, giving him a firm push to help him sit, and he pulled her up as well.

“You're a devious one, aren't you?”

“Well, I heard all about Sherlock's approach and how well that went over,” she gave her unofficial brother-in-law a look. “So I thought it would be better to ease you in. See if you'd like me without any pressure.”

“I guess I'm not in trouble, then, for flirting with the hospital staff?”

“I'm willing to let it slide just this once.”


End file.
